


After: Vernal Equinox

by kuzibah



Series: After [3]
Category: Angel: the Series, Buffy the Vampire Slayer (TV)
Genre: Animal Abuse, Dogs, Domestic, Homophobic Language, M/M, Magic, Misogyny, Portraits, Sexual Violence, Soulless Angel, Threats, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-05
Updated: 2019-09-05
Packaged: 2020-11-01 22:07:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,239
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20522840
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kuzibah/pseuds/kuzibah
Summary: In brief, Angel and Spike began (resumed) a physical relationship in the wake of Fred’s death, survived the events of “Not Fade Away” to go on to close the gateways between our plane and the demon realms, and retired to a small mountain town in Pennsylvania.Original written and posted on Livejournal in April 2005.Thanks for reading.





	1. Chapter One

Angel didn’t glance away from the book he was reading as he heard the front door open, but he did stop reading mid-sentence and listen. Listened to Spike and Snoopy come into the front hall, Spike’s boots heavy and Snoopy’s nails skittering on the wood, puppy-eagerness still at odds with his suddenly-long legs. 

There was a click as Spike released the catch on the leash, and the dog went through to the mud room. Angel heard him lapping water from his bowl. Spike slid out of his coat, then sat on the hall chair and undid his boots, changing into the soft leather “house shoes” he wore indoors.

Angel smiled a little at that, thinking how the Spike he used to know wouldn’t have bothered, would probably have even actively fought about it. But then he had been living in Angelus’s house; now he was living in his own. Funny how that possessive changed your whole attitude.

Spike came into the living room, and then Angel did look up. Spike was in his black jeans and a blue cashmere sweater, and he stood in the entryway in that slightly hunched-forward way that Angel knew was meant to look casual and relaxed, but which really had the vampire stretched tight, like a bowstring.

He walked over, plucked the book out of Angel’s hand, and might have thrown it dramatically over his shoulder if it weren’t for Angel’s slight widening of his eyes, so he tossed it gently onto the sofa instead. He swung one leg over Angel’s lap and settled into it, pressing his body against Angel’s and kissing him deeply, twining his long fingers into Angel’s hair.

Angel wrapped one arm around Spike’s back, his large hand between Spike’s shoulder blades, pulling him as close as he could, then reached higher to tangle in the dirty-blond hair that now fringed Spike’s collar. 

They kissed, open-mouthed, hungry for the taste of one another, twining tongues with the practiced skill of centuries, until their mouths felt bruised and sore. Even then they only moved a whisper apart, staring into one another’s eyes and panting for unneeded breath.

“Upstairs?” Spike asked, and Angel stood, lifting Spike, too, then kissing him again.

“Or right here?” Spike gasped. “Right here is good.”

\- - - - -

The next day dawned overcast, a usual mid-winter’s day. Spike let the dog out for a bit early then went back to bed, waking again later to find Angel writing something.

“Put that away,” Spike murmured. “Time for all good little vampires to be sleeping or fucking.”

“In a minute.”

Spike gave a very put-upon sigh and Angel rolled his eyes. “We’ve been invited to a gallery show, down on Basin, the Blue Star Frog Gallery.”

“Which one’s that? Can’t keep all those ridiculous names straight.” Spike reached down and pulled his cigarettes from between the mattress and box spring, moved his ashtray from the bed-table to his lap and lit up. With a disgusted look, Snoopy rose from the floor and walked into the hall.

“I think it’s the one next to the historical society,” Angel said thoughtfully. “The one with the American primitives in the window.”

“Oh yeah,” Spike said. “Flags and stick figures and no perspective whatsoever.”

“Anyway, they’re introducing a new artist, and we’ve been asked to attend.” Angel passed over a glossy, full-color brochure. “He looks interesting, and maybe we could meet some different people.”

Spike looked at the page. The paintings were dark, fantastic and surreal, with pale figures emerging from shadows. “They look like vampires,” Spike said. 

“Yeah, can’t say that wasn’t also intriguing,” Angel said. “Check his picture on the back.”

Spike flipped over the paper and snorted. “Little Goth poser,” he said. “Are you serious about going?”

“Sure. Why not?”

Spike blew out a stream of smoke. “An evening of pretentious yuppies and whining black-clad teenagers for starters.”

“Yep. Sounds like fun, don’t you think?” Angel gave Spike a grin.

“I’ll never understand your fascination with these wannabes,” Spike said.

“Don’t you think it’s funny?” Angel said. “Humans pretending to be something they don’t believe exists, while we’re right beside them.”

“Yeah, whatever,” Spike said. “Is there an open bar at this thing?” 

“Of course. And the Wonderland is catering.”

Spike took another drag. “I guess it sounds alright,” he said.

\- - - - -

The gallery opening was the first “society” event that Angel and Spike had been invited to since arriving in town, but after dropping the amount of cash they had at the antique shops, restaurants, and specialty stores already, both vampires knew it was only a matter of time. 

Angel looked over at Spike as they entered the brightly-lit gallery and allowed himself a small smile. His lover was dressed impeccably in a black sweater and wool trousers, his blond hair stylishly tousled, and Angel couldn’t resist a light touch to the back of his hand. “You look stunning,” he whispered, and Spike smiled.

“I know,” he said smugly.

“Liam! Will! Thank you so much for coming,” a woman, presumably the gallery owner, called to them, and Angel searched his memory his memory for where he’d met her.

“Amanda Rialle. The night the red-headed torch singer was at the Wonderland,” Spike said under his breath, and Angel gave a small nod.

“Amanda. Thank you so much for inviting us,” Angel said. 

She came over to them, took each of their hands in turn and air-kissed their cheeks. “How could I not?” she said. “Men of discriminating taste such as yourselves. But come. Let me introduce you to the genius we’re honoring tonight.”

She led them across to a small knot of, yes, black-clad teenagers, and pulled aside a young man dressed as a Victorian dandy, his black hair pulled back into a long ponytail. 

“Allow me to present Sebastien DellaMorte,” Amanda said.

The young man extended a gray-gloved hand. “A pleasure indeed,” he said.

\- - - - -

Spike was standing on the front sidewalk smoking when Angel was ready to leave, and Angel came up behind him, rested his hands on Spike’s hips, and kissed the soft skin behind his ear. “Did you have fun?” he asked.

Spike shrugged. “I suppose,” he said. 

“What did you think of the artist?”

“Interesting,” Spike admitted. “I kind of like the way he uses light and texture.”

“I’m glad you like him,” Angel said. “Because I’ve commissioned a painting from him.”

Spike chuckled. “A portrait of the great Angelus, I suppose,” he said.

“Not exactly,” Angel said. “More like a portrait of the great William the Bloody.”

Spike turned in Angel’s arms, bringing his hands up to Angel’s face. “Not even at knife-point,” he said.

Angel’s expression fell. “Why not?”

“Sitting for days with some obnoxious git?” Spike said. “I’d rather drink holy water.” He stepped back, inclining himself towards their home. “You ready to go, then?”

Angel nodded sadly. “Yeah,” he said, and took Spike’s hand. 

They walked a few blocks in silence, Spike looking sideways at Angel’s disappointment, until he finally pulled Angel into a dark alley. “Okay,” Spike said. “I’ll do it. But I’m not going to be nice.”

“Merely civil should be sufficient,” Angel said.

“Alright, then,” Spike agreed, and then let Angel kiss him.

\- - - - -

Spike woke to find Angel writing again. 

“What now?” he mumbled. 

“Umm…”

“Please, not another gallery opening.”

“No,” Angel said. “I got a card from… Buffy yesterday.”

Spike sat up. “What did she say?”

“She wants to visit.”

The sentence hung in the air above them like a nest of wasps, waiting for one of them to either poke it with a stick or slowly back away. 

“That might be… okay…” Spike said, his voice barely audible.

Angel calmly put his papers aside and slid closer to Spike, put one hand on his cheek. “She says she understands,” Angel said. “She says she still wants to be friends. With both of us.”

Spike nodded. 

“She wants to come with Willow. Just for a week.”

Spike swallowed hard. “Yeah,” he said, then put on a brave face. “That sounds great. They could shop, and we’ll take ‘em to some of the restaurants. We’ll just relax. It’ll be nice.”

“Yeah,” Angel agreed. “It’ll be nice.”

“And if it’s not,” Spike said. “There are some very nice inns a few blocks down.”

Angel kissed him quickly. “But it will be,” he said. “Nice.”

Spike nodded again, then pushed himself out of bed. “Snoopy needs to go out,” he said, pulling on his bathrobe. When he’d gone, Angel resumed his writing.

\- - - - -

“So what do you need?” Angel asked Sebastien, when the artist arrived at the house a few nights later.

The young man wandered into the living room, not answering right away. “Just some space to work,” he said. “And time for inspiration to come.”

Angel looked back at Spike, who was waiting on the stair, and the younger vampire seemed to be stifling laughter.

“My things are in the car,” Sebastien said, turning around, and Angel watched Spike instantly re-set his face into the picture of attentive interest. “I’ll just go fetch them.”

He stepped out, and then Spike did laugh. 

“Civil,” Angel reminded him, and Spike descended and crossed to the fireplace, where he threw himself loosely into a wing chair. 

Sebastien made three trips, setting up an easel, work table, and two goose neck lamps in the bay window. 

“I’ll leave you to it, then. Let’s go, Snoop,” Angel said, and he withdrew upstairs to their TV room. Spike could distantly hear the opening theme of “Lawrence of Arabia” begin to play.

“How should I sit?” Spike asked.

Sebastien looked up from his arrangement of pencils and charcoal. “You know far better than I what your lover finds attractive,” he said. 

Spike nodded, grudgingly, and sat up straight, turning his body away from the artist, but his face towards him; dropped his chin, but raised his eyes, his mouth slightly open and pursed. He laid one hand on the chair’s arm, his fingers splayed wide. 

Sebastien stepped up to the easel and sketched several quick lines over the paper, not taking his eyes from his subject. He flipped the sheets over several times, each time scratching no more than a dozen or so strokes. “You can relax, now,” he said when he’d done eight or so. “I just needed to get some basic shapes.” He flipped back to the first page, took a handful of pencils and pulled a chair up to the easel.

“I’m just doing sketches tonight,” Sebastien explained. “Get a feel for my subject. Then I’ll take them back to my studio and work on the painting there.”

Spike frowned. “Will you need me there?”

Sebastien shook his head. “Not at all,” he said. “Since my work is impressionistic, most of what I’ll need will be in my head. I may return once or twice, but not for any length of time, only long enough to gather sensations. I’m not merely painting a likeness, I’m trying to capture the image of your soul.”

Spike was glad the artist took that moment to turn and reach for more pencils.

“Tell me about yourself,” Sebastien asked when he’d resumed his work. “Have you and Liam been together long?”

Spike smiled. “Yes,” he said. “And no.”

Sebastien smiled himself, though he was now intent on his work. “An enigmatic answer,” he said. “I like that. Could you elaborate?”

“Well, we fucked and fought for awhile. Then I was with someone else for a long time and we never saw each other. Then we fought off and on for awhile more. Then we finally admitted we really wanted to fuck each other. And then it became love.”

“Ah, love,” Sebastien repeated. “When did that happen?”

Spike hesitated, not much caring for this painter, but so in love that he wanted to shout it to the world. “A few months ago,” he said, and when Sebastien did not interrupt, just scribbled on his paper, Spike went on, “we were traveling. A world tour. I suppose it had become love somewhere along the way, but when we finally said it aloud we were in Paris.” He smiled fondly. “On top of the Eiffel Tower.”

Sebastien smiled at that, himself. “Sometimes romance fits the cliché,” he said kindly. 

“That it does,” Spike admitted, and they sat in silence awhile. 

“So. World tour,” Sebastien said after several minutes. “That sounds romantic.”

Spike gave a small snort. “Hardly,” he said. “More of a business trip. A filthy, nasty, exhausting business trip…”

“Where else did you go?”

Spike leaned his head back. “St. Petersburg… Mumbai, India… some rat-hole in southeast Asia, then Kyoto, Japan, which was pretty, but we didn’t have much time for sight-seeing…”

Sebastien’s handful of pencils hit the floor, bouncing and rolling away. “Sorry, sorry,” the artist said quietly, dropping to one knee and picking the pencils up.

“Tell me about Liam,” Sebastien said when he’d resumed his sketching. “Is he an affectionate man?”

“I don’t wish to discuss the intimate details of our personal life,” Spike said calmly. “So why don’t you busy yourself with your doodling, alright?”

Sebastien stood and began gathering his materials. “I think I have all I need for now,” he said tightly. “I shall return again in a few days.”

Spike rose as well. “I look forward to it,” he said.

\- - - - -

Spike found Angel lying on one of the TV room couches, Snoopy stretched out beside him.

“That didn’t take long,” Angel said.

“I thought the dog wasn’t allowed on the furniture,” Spike said.

Angel glanced down at the animal as though noticing him for the first time. “He isn’t allowed on the living room furniture,” he clarified.

Spike crossed the room and shoved Angel’s feet aside to sit beside him. 

“Civil?” Angel prompted.

“That painter’s a drooling wanker,” Spike replied. “I gave him more civility than he deserved.”

Angel sighed, and Spike patted his ankle. 

“He’ll be back,” Spike said.

Angel patted the dog’s head. “Get down,” he said, and Snoopy looked at him, then got onto the floor. “Come here,” he said to Spike, and, with a grin, Spike did.


	2. Chapter Two

“Oh my God, this place is amazing!” Willow squealed as she climbed out of their rental car in front of Spike and Angel’s house.

“Thanks,” Angel said. He tried to hoist their bags out of the trunk, but found them much heavier than expected, and he stumbled a bit.

“Careful, they’re pretty heavy,” Willow said. “Don’t worry, Buffy will get them.”

Angel grunted and hefted them again.

“It’s so big,” Buffy said, looking up at the house.

Angel grinned. “It’s not bad,” he agreed.

“Where’s Spike?” Buffy asked.

“Walking the dog up in the woods,” Angel said. “We weren’t sure when you were coming.”

“Oh, I need to see the doggy!” Willow said.

“He’ll be back soon,” Angel promised.

He led them in and up to the second floor. “We have one guest room here and another across the hall,” he said, pointing them out, and the girls each took one. 

“I picked up a few things on the way in,” Buffy said, taking a shopping bag from Angel’s arms. “Let me just take them down to the kitchen.”

She descended the stairs, and began unloading boxes and jars into the cabinets. After a few minutes she heard the back door open and Spike and Snoopy come in, the dog going right to his food bowl. “Angel! Any sign of them yet!” Spike called, then stepped into the kitchen. “Buffy…” he said quietly.

“Hi, Spike,” she said.

They stared at one another for a long moment. “How was your trip?” Spike asked at last.

“Good. It was good.”

“Good,” Spike repeated. “I’m glad.”

There was another awkward silence, then Buffy started putting boxes away again. “I love your house,” she said with deliberate casualness. “It’s very… nice.”

“Thanks. We like it.”

Buffy gave a small, involuntary chuckle, and Spike gave an uncertain smile of his own. 

“What’s so funny?” he said.

“The very natural ‘we,’” she said. “That’s still kind of… weird.”

Spike’s smile became rueful. “You’re telling me,” he said.

She put the last item away and closed the cabinet, turned and crossed her arms, regarding Spike thoughtfully until he lowered his eyes uncomfortably. “It looks good on you,” she said at last. “You seem… happy.” She gave a rueful smile of her own. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you this way,” she said.

“I am happy,” Spike avowed. He shook his head, slightly disbelieving. “I never expected it, either.”

“Well I’m happy for you,” Buffy said sincerely. “Really. For both of you.”

\- - - - -

“So, how are things going in England?” Angel asked Willow as she started to unpack her bags, arranging various jars and the implements of her Craft on the bureau. 

“Pretty good,” Willow said brightly. “Now that the dimensional gateways are closed – thanks for that, by the way – we’re actually starting to see some real attrition. Before, whenever we took out a nest or a swarm or a… what do you call a group of demons, anyway?”

Angel shrugged, and Willow went on.

“Anyway, they’d always just summon another bunch to pick up where they left off. Now they can’t do that. Which means there are a lot, the ones that reproduce slowly, that we can make some headway with. The ones that spread quickly, vampires, mainly, are still a problem, but sooner or later we’ll be able to mobilize greater forces against them. I don’t think we’ll ever wipe them out entirely, but there’ll be a lot fewer plots to destroy the world, you know?”

“Yep,” Angel said. “Sounds good to me.”

“I hope we all live long enough to see it,” Willow said, a little wistfully. “It’d be nice for Buffy to be able to retire someplace nice. Finally have a normal life.”

“She’d be bored stupid in less than a week,” Angel said.

“I don’t know,” Willow said. “Looks pretty good on you and Spike.”

Angel nodded. “Good point,” he allowed.

Willow turned her back to him, distractedly rearranging the items on the bureau-top. “So… how do you avoid the ‘perfect happiness’ thing?” she asked after a moment.

Angel didn’t answer until Willow had turned back to him. “I… always remember what I’ve given up to get this,” he said. “And what I could lose.”

Willow nodded. “I’ve had some time to research,” she said. “And I’ve been in contact with witches from a number of different magical disciplines.”

Angel felt a crawling in his stomach, part hope and part dread. “What are you thinking?” he said.

“I think I may have found a way to anchor your soul,” Willow said.

Angel shook his head once, very slowly.

“Giles and I discussed it many times after… after,” she explained. “The Watchers had a theory that the happiness clause was a necessary component of the spell. But Spike’s experience proved that theory wrong.”

“Willow, I can’t…”

She took a step closer to him, excited now. “Spike did it,” she insisted. “He proved it’s possible. Giles and I had to re-examine our pre-conceptions, but I think I’ve found the answer.”

“You think..?”

“Angel, come on down,” Spike called as he charged up the staircase. “The girls haven’t had dinner…” He came up short. “What’s going on?”

Angel turned quickly away. “Nothing,” he said.

“Angel…” Willow’s voice had a pleading note.

Spike turned on the witch. “What did you say?”

“It’s fine, Spike,” Angel said calmly. He turned back to Willow, himself. “Let me think about it,” he said. “We’ll talk more later.”

Willow looked about to argue, but only nodded back.

“What’s going on?” Spike repeated.

“Later,” Angel promised. “When we’re alone.”

\- - - - -

The vampires took Buffy and Willow to what was considered the town’s nicest restaurant, the Emerald Inn. Afterwards, Spike showed off his recently-acquired motorcycle by giving each girl a ten-minute tour of the town. When they went back into the house, Angel offered to make tea, but Willow, with a pointed look at Buffy, pleaded exhaustion from the flight, and both went up to bed. 

“Shall we?” Spike suggested, inclining towards the staircase, too.

“In a minute,” Angel said. “Come over here with me.”

Spike went to Angel’s side. “What were you talking to Willow about?” he asked, trying not to let any of the nervousness he felt show in his face.

Angel pulled Spike down into his lap and squeezed him tightly.

“What’s wrong?” Spike whispered.

“Willow says she can anchor the soul,” Angel confessed.

A range of emotion played over Spike’s face before he settled on happiness. He took Angel’s face between his hands. “But that’s wonderful, Angel,” he said quietly. 

Angel gave him a look of such deep longing that Spike wished he were the older and bigger one so he could gather Angel onto his lap and squeeze him tight, but he had to be content with leaning into his lover’s body and letting Angel find his comfort there.

“What are you afraid of?” Spike asked after a moment.

“I don’t want to hope too much,” Angel said. “It might not work.”

Spike nodded slowly. “Maybe not,” he said. “But it might. Isn’t it worth the chance?”

“Maybe,” Angel allowed. “But I’d want some safeguards in place. Chains, at least. A cage, if we can manage…”

Spike shushed Angel with a fingertip on his lips. “Yes, of course,” he said. “We’ll talk to Willow tomorrow, make the preparations. There are a lot of questions. But bed now… bed now.” And he replaced his fingertip with his mouth.

\- - - - -

Buffy and Willow woke early, and though they insisted they could make breakfast for themselves, Angel insisted on rising and preparing omelets and grapefruit for them while Spike let the dog out for awhile. Later, when the girls had left to hit the outlet stores, both vampires returned to bed, Snoopy curled on the floor beside them.

At about four in the afternoon, the phone rang, and Angel reached out, half-asleep, to pick it up. “Hello,” he mumbled.

Spike woke a little further when he heard, not a woman’s voice, but a man’s at the other end of the line.

“Yes, yes, that will be fine,” Angel was saying. “We have guests, but I doubt they’d mind. Thanks. We’ll see you then.” And he hung up.

“Who was that?” Spike asked.

Sebastien DellaMorte,” Angel answered, falling back onto his pillow and putting one hand over his eyes. “He needs to come by tonight and absorb the biorhythms or commune with the cosmic rays or something. He says it’ll only take about twenty minutes.”

“It’s fine,” Spike said. “The girls’ll have a good laugh, I expect.”

Angel reached over and pulled Spike closer. “How are things between you and Buffy? Tense?”

Spike’s expression grew thoughtful. “No. No, it’s not,” he said. “It was never really love between us, Angel, and now she doesn’t have to pretend it was. What about you?”

“Hard to say,” Angel said. “I haven’t really had a chance to talk to her.”

“How are you feeling?”

Angel thought about that. “I don’t know,” he admitted finally.

Spike grunted and nodded. “I can understand that,” he said, and snuggled closer. “Let’s not think about it, now.”

\- - - - -

Sebastien tried to remain aloof and mysterious as he carried in his equipment, but when confronted with two pretty young ladies he grew flustered and tended to babble a bit. Buffy and Willow showed respectful restraint when he talked about his “method,” then ooh-ed and ahh-ed over the nearly-completed painting of Spike.

“It looks totally like you,” Buffy said. “But… more so.”

“It really captures your…” Willow grasped for the word, and finally settled on a growling noise.

“I should be done by tomorrow,” Sebastien said. “Or late tonight, in fact. I’m rather more a creature of the night.”

Behind his back, Angel and Spike exchanged amused glances.

“In fact, I’d like to present you both with a gift,” Sebastien went on, and he lifted a black-wrapped box out of his work case. 

Angel took it, and unwrapped it to reveal a mass of yellow crystals.

“The crystals glow in the dark,” Sebastien said. “I thought it could be a… token of your love.” He gave a slightly embarrassed smile. “I have some in my own bedroom; they produce a lovely light.”

Angel passed them to Spike, who examined them with keen interest.

“Thank you,” Angel said. “It’s a lovely piece.”

“Yes,” Spike agreed. “Very nice.”

Sebastien snapped his heels together, and gave a formal incline of his head. Then he took Buffy and Willow’s hands in turn and kissed the back of each one. “Gentlemen. Ladies. Until tomorrow evening,” he said, and took his leave.

They waited until he had left the porch before they began to giggle madly.

“I’ll put this upstairs,” Spike said, tossing the crystals into the air and catching them again. “Rather a pretty little trinket, don’t you think?”

“Yes,” Angel said. “The kid is weird, but you can’t deny he’s a gentleman.”

“A talented gentleman,” Buffy said. “That painting was gorgeous.”

“Yeah, it’s gonna look great,” Willow indicated the space above the mantle, “right there.”

Spike came back down the stairs and to Angel’s side. “So, Molly Maguires for dinner?” he said.

\- - - - -

“So how did you decide to settle here?” Willow asked later over fish and chips, and a nice imported lager. 

“S’where we ran out of gas,” Spike said. “In the car, I mean.”

“Well, clearly someone was looking out for you,” Buffy said. “You couldn’t have picked a nicer place.”

“Really,” Willow said. “The natural power here is so positive. So pure.”

“And you seem so happy here,” Buffy added wistfully.

“Maybe someone was looking out for us, then,” Angel said, smiling at Spike.

“Wouldn’t be the first time,” Spike said.

Willow took a deep breath. “So,” she began, “have you given any thought to our discussion last night?”

Three pairs of eyes turned pointedly on Angel, and he squirmed a little in his seat, before looking at Spike. The younger vampire nodded encouragingly. 

“I’ll give it a try,” Angel said quietly. “But I need your promise that I’ll be completely secure. In case… something goes wrong.”

“Covered,” Willow said brightly. “We brought a suitcase full of chains and manacles.”

Angel grinned, remembering the heavy bags.

“But it won’t,” Buffy said. “I mean, I don’t know as much about this magic stuff as Willow and Giles, but I trust them. And if they say it will work, it will.”

Angel reached across the table and laid his hand over Spike’s. “I don’t want there to be any chance…”

Willow held up one hand. “Even if it doesn’t work, which it will, nothing should change. You’ll still be you.”

“Still,” Angel insisted. “Manacles.”

“How exactly will it be done?” Spike said, changing the subject.

Willow pulled a handful of notes out of her purse. “We start by building a bale-fire…” she said.

\- - - - - 

The girls retired early, claiming exhaustion from a long day of power-shopping, with a plan to do the ritual the next night. Spike and Angel, on the other hand, took Snoopy up into the hills to hunt their own dinner.

Spike had convinced Angel early on that since dogs were a pack animal, they could best train their pet by becoming his “pack.” So once he was old enough to navigate the mountain terrain, they took him on their night hunts, taught him to track game, follow it among the trees, and wait for the perfect moment to attack. They fed him the fresh meat, then played with him as a reward.

In return, the dog had become a fiercely loyal companion to the two vampires, fearless and bold. He learned quickly, and became more and more obedient. 

Angel had read old stories of dog companions that guarded the daylight lairs of vampires, and decided that their Snoopy was the spiritual descendant of those hell hounds. They lavished the animal with even more attention, praising each advance, and he clearly adored them in return.

This night was unseasonably warm, but the temperature was dropping quickly, and the vampires decided to let Snoopy take the lead in finding their prey. He meandered, seemingly aimless, for most of twenty minutes, then caught the trail. They tracked the doe for another two hours, finally felling her in a grove of tall pines. Later, all well-fed and still smeared with blood, they romped together in the frost-crisp grass. 

They came home and Snoopy headed right for his bed, on the floor beside the still-warm fireplace. He turned about three times, lay down, and fell instantly asleep. His “packmates” retired to their own bed and did the same.


	3. Chapter Three

Spike opened his eyes, sensing that beyond the heavy velvet curtains the sun was just starting to rise. He’d have about an hour before Snoopy would need to go out, he thought, and snuggled closer to his lover.

Angel blinked awake, and Spike looked up into his dark eyes. A slow smirk turned up Angel’s lips, and Spike felt his stomach clench with a primal terror. “Hey, there, Spikey,” Angel said brightly.

Before Spike could even completely process it rationally he’d grabbed the lamp from the night-table and shattered it over Angel’s head.

He was in the hallway while Angel was still reeling from the blow, calling Buffy’s and Willow’s names. The girls came into the hall in a shot, both ready for action.

“Get out,” Spike shouted at them, his voice high. “Get out of the house.”

“What is it?” Buffy shouted back.

Spike looked back over his shoulder, and his voice dropped low. “…It’s Angelus,” he said.

A furious roar came from the vampires’ bedroom. “You better be running, boy!” Angelus shouted.

“Get out!” Spike shouted again.

Willow half-turned back to her room. “It’s morning,” she said. “You need a blanket…”

Spike shoved them towards the staircase. “No time,” he said. “Go!”

Angelus came into the bedroom doorway, a sudden, horrifying presence, and in spite of themselves, Willow and Buffy began to run. And Spike, defying every nerve screaming at him to follow them, braced himself and faced his beloved’s alter-ego.

Angelus, taking advantage of every year of strength he had, charged Spike and wrapped his hands around the younger vampire’s neck. He slammed Spike’s head against the oak banister five times before Spike blacked out.

\- - - - -

Spike came to in their bed, spread-eagled on his back. A slight twitch and he knew he’d been shackled with the manacles Willow had brought. Nice to know Angelus hadn’t changed, then.

Still feigning unconsciousness, Spike peered around the room through slitted eyes. His gaze fell on Angelus’s broad back as he knelt by the fireplace, and it took Spike a few moments to realize what he was doing. Gathered in a box near the fire was a collection of jars and boxes, and Angelus was tossing the contents of each onto the flames.

“Don’t bother pretending to sleep,” Angelus said without turning. “In all this time you’ve never fooled me.”

“That you know of,” Spike said, and Angelus gave a nasty chuckle.

“You should probably know that I’m burning all of that damned witch’s supplies,” he said casually. “I don’t expect it to stop her, but it should give me a day to play. One last hurrah, as it were.”

“Enjoy it while you can.”

Angelus stood up and turned to look down at Spike. “I intend to,” he said, and picked up a stiletto from the mantelpiece. He climbed onto the bed and straddled Spike’s waist, then he put the tip of the blade under the top button on Spike’s pajamas.

“In fact, I intend to make sure nobody ever forgets me, even after I’ve been shut away forever.” He cut the button loose, and it hit Spike on the chin. “And can I just say, nice clothes.” Angelus cut off the second button. “You’d never have worn fancy silk like this for me,” he said, his voice low and sibilant. “He really did make you his bitch.”

Spike bared his teeth. “Fuck. You.”

“Don’t worry. We’ll get to that.” Angelus ripped Spike’s shirt open completely, pulled it back to bare his shoulders. “I can see why he likes your body. Thin, pale… delicate. Pretty easy to convince himself it’s a girl squirming under him.”

Spike said nothing, but his eyes showed he didn’t believe this lie.

“Better get down to it then,” Angelus said, and ran the tip of the stiletto blade down the inside of Spike’s arm, from where the manacle circled his wrist to the bend of the elbow. A thread of scarlet rose on the skin, bloomed into a line of beads. 

“What would he miss the most?” Angelus mused, twisting the point of the stiletto against the inside of Spike’s bicep. “I know he likes the feel of your hands on his skin, your fingers on his face. How much would he weep if I were to take them off at the elbow? Maybe I’ll take your feet, too. I know how much you miss your wheelchair, Spikey. Imagine him pushing you around in it for the next couple of centuries. Now that’s true love.” He gave a dramatic sigh. “And don’t worry,” he added. “I wouldn’t risk any miraculous reattachments. Our parts are all pretty flammable.”

Angelus leaned down close to Spike’s face, cupped it in his hands and ran his thumbs over Spike’s cheekbones, then lifted and held the knife a fraction of an inch from Spike’s eye. “I really ought to take your baby blues,” he said, then leaned even closer to whisper in Spike’s ear. “Do you have any idea how beautiful he thinks your eyes are? Sometimes he wishes he had your skill at words so he could tell you. But he knows he’d just end up sounding stupid.” He shook the blade, trying to make Spike flinch, then laughed. 

“Pop, pop, just like grapes, and every time he looked at you he’d know just how much power I had over you both.” 

Spike kept his gaze steady, and set the line of his mouth defiantly, but he knew his body was shaking, betraying him.

Angelus moved the edge of the blade alongside Spike’s face and began to draw it down slowly, while moving lower himself. It traveled over Spike’s throat and collarbone, his chest and the line of his stomach, while Angelus’s other hand grasped Spike’s waistband and slid it down over his thighs.

“Of course, I could stop pretending we don’t both know what would really hit him where he lives,” Angelus said. “Seriously, Spike, the way he craves it...” He grabbed Spike’s cock and gave it a jerk that brought tears to the younger vampire’s eyes. “…absolutely pathetic. Christ!” He jerked again, and Spike gave an involuntary whimper. 

“I mean, think about what it’s like for me,” Angelus went on. “Trapped in there. While he just rolled over and took it from you like some pussy bitch! How many nights did I pray for death?”

“I’d be happy to take care of that for you,” Spike said with mock bravado.

“Don’t insult me,” Angelus said. “We both know it’s only a matter of hours before those two cunts track down that shit-eating little wizard wannabe and break his half-assed attempt at a spell…” He saw realization dawn in Spike’s face and laughed again. “Don’t tell me I figured it out before you. Amazing. Being a kept boy is making you soft and stupid, I guess.”

“The artist,” Spike said.

“Finally!” Angelus said. “You probably told him everything. ‘Oh, yeah, I saved the world,’” Angelus mimicked Spike’s accent. “‘Let me tell you exactly how I did it…’ As I said, stupid. But lucky for me. I knew sooner or later your idiocy would work in my favor. Only took a hundred and twenty-five years.”

Angelus pushed himself upright, jammed the stiletto into the wooden bedpost. “The way I figure it, then,” he said conversationally, “I give myself two hours to mutilate you. I don’t want to rush something like that, plus I’ll probably have some improvisational ideas once I get to work. Before that, I’ll want, let’s say, another two hours to destroy everything else in this house he loves.” Angelus tapped his chin with his fingers in a stylized gesture of thought. “So the way I figure it, that gives me four hours to reacquaint you with your natural place in the universe.”

Angelus climbed off the bed and started to undo the manacle that held Spike’s ankle from the bed. “I should have thought this through before I chained you, though,” he said. “Not really convenient this way.”

The metal cuff snapped open, and in the same instant Spike swept his leg across. Angelus leaned back just far enough for the cuff to graze his chest. “He wakes up,” he shouted, grabbing Spike’s foot as it swept back. He slammed the limb against the foot-board with both hands, shattering most of the bones in the joint. Spike shouted in pain. Angelus snapped the cuff back on the bedpost.

“I can’t believe this is what you’re resisting,” Angelus said, walking around the bed to lean over Spike, get in his face. “Normally you’re begging me to get inside your ass.”

“Not you,” Spike said through teeth gritted with pain.

“Maybe he isn’t me, not at heart,” Angelus said, whispering in Spike’s ear again. “But I’m here all the time. And I always will be.”

“I’ll remember that when *you’re* whimpering my name,” Spike said, and Angelus gave him one sharp punch to the temple.

\- - - - -

Spike came back to consciousness chained on his stomach. His pain was focused right where he had expected, where Angelus had promised. From there it ripped up his spine, like a cleaving of his body, and radiated out to the lesser throbbing in his broken foot. His ribs were compressed by the weight of Angelus crushing him into the bed, each thrust a cut inside him. He kept his eyes shut tight, the only sound in his ears the ragged panting as Angelus put his entire effort into making sure Spike knew his place.

True to his word, Angelus sustained Spike’s abuse a full four hours. When his vigor flagged, he refreshed his strength by biting Spike’s shoulder and drinking his blood. When that source was exhausted, Angelus amused himself with Spike’s fountain-pen and a white-jade candlestick, then cut elaborate crosshatch patterns into Spike’s pale skin. 

“This has been lovely, believe me,” Angelus said, lying alongside Spike’s battered, limp body. “And our date’s not over yet, sweetheart. But I need to break up and burn just a few little things, now.” He pulled the emerald ring from his finger and rapped it against Spike’s nose until his clouded eyes slitted open.

“So you won’t miss me, I’m just going to leave you a little something to remember me.” And he shoved the ring inside Spike.

Spike grunted with pain, and opened his eyes as much as he could to fix Angelus with a stare. “It doesn’t matter what you do,” Spike said, his voice so ragged Angelus made a show of leaning close to listen. “Soon you’ll be gone. Forever.”

“But not forgotten,” Angelus said smugly. “In fact, maybe I’ll skip the warm-up, go right to the pitch…”

Below them Snoopy began to bark, and Spike realized there was another level to the dread that twisted his stomach.

“God damn it!” Angelus shouted cheerfully, throwing himself out of bed and pulling on his pants. “I forgot the fucking dog! I’m gonna need another hour!” 

As soon as Angelus left the room, Spike summoned every bit of strength he still had and heaved all his weight against the manacle binding his right hand. He bit down on the pain as his thumb dislocated and his skin ripped raw, but his hand slipped free. In the living room he heard Snoopy’s bark break off with a yelp, and felt a blast of adrenaline even he had not dared hope for.

“So help me,” he growled, breaking the bedposts that held the other three manacles. “If you fucking hurt my dog…”

He got unsteadily to his feet, pulled Angel’s ring from within his body, and though he clutched it in his fist, he could not bring himself to throw it and dropped it onto the nightstand. He took a step, stumbled and nearly fell, catching himself on the mantelpiece and finding himself at eye-level with the cluster of crystal the cursed artist had given them. “Fucker,” Spike snarled, and brushed the stone off. It dropped to the hearth and shattered.

Keeping one hand on the wall, Spike managed to get into the hall, then descended the stairs, clinging to the banister, hand over hand. From the bottom of the staircase he saw Angelus crouching down, his back to Spike. Just beyond him Spike could see the unmoving form of Snoopy, and the last surge of anger rose in him.

He reached out, and his hand fell on a standing lamp beside the staircase. He curled his fingers around, then with both hands raised it above his head. Half-running, half-falling forward, he charged towards Angelus. Halfway there, Angelus turned. His brown eyes were clouded with confusion. “Spike,” he said. “Something’s happened…”

And Spike crashed the lamp over his head. 

Angel fell back, raised one arm weakly as the lamp hit him again. Spike hit him eleven times, though Angel dropped, unconscious, after four. The last three blows were softer, as Spike’s strength suddenly gave out, but the damage had been done. The lamp dropped from his nerveless fingers and he crumpled in a heap on the hearth rug.

Distantly, he heard a voice calling his name, but it wasn’t the voice he wanted, anymore.

\- - - - -

Spike woke up slowly, his senses returning one at a time. Touch, first, soft blankets bundling him tight. Scent, Willow’s musk perfume and the mix of warm electronics and dog hair that indicated the TV room. Sound, one human heartbeat, one human breath, and an electric hum. Then the sharp taste of human blood, what was left in his mouth after a feeding, but underneath… 

Slayer, he realized, and another power. Buffy and Willow must each have made a “donation.” And then he dared to crack open his eyes.

“Careful,” came Willow’s worried voice. “There’s a lot of dried blood.” Her little fingers pressed a warm, wet cloth to his eyes, blotted them carefully until Spike’s lashes parted. He looked up into Willow’s face, watched fear give way to relief.

“Angel,” Spike managed, his voice a croaking whisper. 

“He’s… Buffy’s taking care of him,” Willow said. 

“Is he..?”

“The soul is back,” Willow said. “Buffy and I were in that artist’s studio, trying to get him to tell us what he’d done, when he suddenly screamed and fell down. Buffy ran back here… she found the two of you.”

Spike let his head nod forward, and Willow let out the rest of her breath in a relieved sigh. 

“He’s in your bedroom,” Willow said. “Still out but recovering. How are you feeling?”

“Snoopy,” Spike said, his voice so quiet Willow had to read his lips. 

“We think he’ll be okay,” she said. “He’s a little groggy, but not hurt. And you are..?”

“Tired,” Spike said. “Sore. But he didn’t… hurt me. Not permanently. Didn’t get the chance.”

Willow nodded, then stood and crossed to where some of Spike’s clothes were stacked. “Do you think you can get dressed?” 

Spike nodded, tried to sit up, then let Willow help him up, and untangle the blankets wrapped around him. He looked down at his skin, saw that the bruises and scars he had expected were little more than yellow smudges on his flesh.

“Slayer blood,” he said to himself, and Willow nodded. 

“Angel’s recovery has progressed just as quickly,” she said.

“It’s powerful stuff,” Spike agreed.

She moved to hand him the clothes. “Do you need help?”

He shook his head, and she slipped into the hall. 

Spike stood, surprised at how quickly his strength was returning. His foot was healed, and his private injuries were more memory than actual pain. He picked up the clothes the women had brought for him, quickly pulled them on.

\- - - - -

Willow returned a few minutes later, Snoopy at her heel. Spike sat in one of the chairs and beckoned the dog to him, and Snoopy bounded forward, put his paws in Spike’s lap and happily licked the vampire’s face. Spike rubbed his ears and head, and smiled very, very slightly.

“We should go out,” Willow said. “Get a drink or something.” 

Spike looked up, past her into the hall. 

“He’ll be fine,” Willow said. “But I think you might need to get out of this house for just a little while.” 

Spike nodded. “There’s a café, just down the street. I’m friends with the owner’s daughter. She lets Snoopy come in.”

“Let’s go.” She led him into the hallway, put a hand on his shoulder when he looked back at the bedroom door. Snoopy trailed them down the stairs and out into the street.


	4. Chapter Four

“Spike!” Angel woke with a gasp, and Buffy was beside him, soothing his forehead with one cool hand, but Angel would not rest.

“Is he..? Did I..? Oh, God, is he alive?”

“He’s alive,” Buffy said. “Physically quite well. He and Willow just went out for a little while.”

“I… I…” The events of the preceding day came back to Angel in a rush, and his voice choked in his throat. 

“I know,” Buffy said quietly. “It was pretty obvious what happened here. But he’ll survive.”

“I never wanted this to happen again,” Angel said. “I fought against it every day, didn’t let myself feel the happiness I owed to him…” He covered his face with his hands. “I need to go to him.”

“No,” Buffy said. “Not yet. He needs time apart.” She lowered her voice. “Believe me, I know.”

Angel looked up at her. “Willow needs to do that spell. I need to know this won’t happen again.” 

“She will,” Buffy promised. “But you need to understand. This is going to take Spike awhile, and you can’t rush him.” Buffy touched his forehead again, smoothing back the longish hair. “It wasn’t you,” she said. “But it takes some time to sort that out. He loves you, Angel, and he will come back to you. But you need to follow his lead.”

“I will,” Angel promised. “Whatever he needs.”

Buffy stood up. “Then get up and get dressed,” she said. “We need to put this place together.”

Angel hauled himself into a sitting position, then saw the state of the bed, the bedposts splintered stumps at each corner. The sheets, piled in the corner, smelled of Spike’s blood. Then his eyes fell on the emerald ring, Spike’s gift to him in Paris, a black crust of blood in the carved pattern. “Oh, William,” Angel breathed, reaching for it but staying his hand before it touched.

“You’ll need a new bed,” Buffy said, surveying the wreckage. “Probably mattress, too. Maybe we should just take everything out of the room and refurnish it.”

“He picked out this bed,” Angel said. “It was the first thing we brought into the house. He’d had it chosen for days.” He ran one finger over the rough, broken wood. “How it must have hurt him to break it.”

Buffy turned back to him. “They’re just things, Angel,” she said. “It’s what’s between you that’s hurting him more.”

Angel stood up. “I need to go to him.”

Buffy pushed him back down. “A few hours,” she said. “He needs that.”

Angel let his head drop forward, then nodded.

\- - - - - 

The Wonderland Café was empty, dim, and Desiree, the owner’s daughter, was starting to stack chairs. “They’re closing,” Spike said quietly, turning back to the door. “Let’s go somewhere else…”

“Hi, Will!” Desiree had just spotted them and left her work. “Who’s your friend?”

Willow looked at Spike in confusion. “She means me,” he said under his breath to her. “They call me Will here.” He looked up at Desiree. “This is Willow,” he said aloud.

Desiree stepped closer to them and frowned. “Something’s wrong,” she said. “What happened?”

“Nothing,” Spike said. “You’re ready to lock up, we’ll…”

Desiree took his hand. “Is it Liam?” she asked, and at the change in his expression her face darkened. “That son of a bitch,” she muttered, and stepped around them. “Go back into the dining room. I’ll lock up.”

Spike led Willow to a small, round table beside the fireplace, one he had shared with Angel often. Snoopy curled at their feet. The last embers on the hearth were still warm, but Spike shivered anyway. Desiree, wordless, brought two cups of coffee and a plate of cookies. Willow nodded her thanks, and Desiree went discreetly back to her work. 

“It’ll be okay,” Willow said quietly. “Angel’s soul is back, and Buffy took care of that creepy painter guy.”

Spike, who had seemed to be slipping away, came back for a moment and nodded slightly.

“We could take you to England,” Willow offered. “A few weeks away…”

A sob half-choked in Spike’s throat, and he covered his face with his hands. Desiree looked up suddenly, and Willow reached out towards him. 

“No, no, don’t do that…” Willow said quietly, and Desiree crossed to them. She didn’t exactly push Willow aside, but nearly. She crouched alongside Spike and took hold of his arm. 

“It’s okay, William,” she said. “You let it out.”

And he let the women pet him gently as he wept.

It didn’t last long, a few minutes, then he wiped his eyes and croaked out thanks to them both. Desiree brought out more coffee, and a bottle of something to make it more interesting, then stoked the fire and put jazz CDs on the sound system. After an hour or so, Spike even smiled a bit.

\- - - - -

Angel looked over the half-empty room, the bed and mattress now in the backyard shed. The emerald ring rested in his pocket, as painful as a burning coal. 

“I don’t know where I’m supposed to sleep, now,” he muttered, but Buffy ignored him. 

They heard the front door open and close, and Angel ran to the top of the stairs and looked down into the hall. He found Spike and Willow looking up at him, Willow looking worried, Spike’s expression unreadable. After a moment, Spike proceeded into the living room, and Angel’s face fell. 

“Angel, could you send Buffy down?” Willow said. “We need to drive out to the 24-hour grocery.”

“Um, that’s about twenty-five miles… oh,” Angel said. “I’ll get her.”

Ten minutes later Angel was standing in the doorway, watching Spike’s back as he stoked the fireplace. 

“What do you want from me?” Angel said quietly.

“Don’t be daft,” Spike said, turning his profile to Angel. 

“Anything,” Angel persisted. “Please. You can beat me, or bite me if you want…”

“I don’t want that,” Spike interrupted. “Christ, Angel, you weren’t even soulless half a day. Buffy dealt with you for weeks.”

“Buffy killed me for it,” Angel said quietly, and Spike gave a rueful smile.

They regarded one another in silence for a long moment, then Spike turned back to the fire.

“Please don’t leave me,” Angel said, his voice barely a whisper, now, and Spike turned back around to look at his face.

“Come here, Angel,” he said, and Angel approached him slowly. “Sit here by me,” Spike said, and Angel descended gracefully to sit beside the chair. 

Spike watched the flames for a few minutes, gathering his thoughts, knowing Angel was staring at him intently. Finally he turned to look at him. “It’s not what he did to me,” Spike said, and Angel dropped his gaze.

Spike reached out with both hands and took Angel’s face, lifting it again. “It’s knowing there’s a little piece inside of you that hates everything we are to one another. That would rather kill me than let you have that.”

“But he’s gone,” Angel said. “He’ll never be loose again.”

“No, Angel, he’s inside you. He’ll always be inside you.”

“It doesn’t matter…”

“It does.” Spike leaned even closer to his lover. “And I don’t want you to hide that from me any more.”

Angel stared into Spike’s eyes, his mouth half-open as if about to speak, but he said nothing. Spike lowered his voice to a whisper.

“Give me the worst of it,” he said. “And we take his power away.”

Angel shuddered, and leaned his head against Spike’s knee. “He’s screaming in my head,” he said. 

\- - - - -

They talked, for hours, until the embers went cold and the eastern sky flushed with the merest hint of gold. There were tears, and kisses, too. Angel, for the first time, spoke of what it was like to live with the demon inside him, taking every feeling of value that he had and twisting it into something obscene, and Spike held him and told him that even that could never make him stop loving him.

Buffy and Willow entered silently and went to their bedrooms, and as the sun rose, Spike led Angel upstairs, but Angel drew him away from the empty bedroom and into the TV room. They opened the trundle bed, and Angel got some blankets from the hall closet. He let Spike lay him down, his back against the back of the bed, and wrap him in a wool blanket. 

Spike sat up, staring into nothingness, then finally bundled himself and slept right on the edge of the bed. Angel watched Spike a long time, and he watched Snoopy, who would come no closer than the doorway, before falling asleep himself. 

\- - - - -

Angel woke an hour past sunset, alone, Spike’s blanket crumpled on the floor. He rose and wandered into their bedroom, looked at the empty place where their bed had been, and wondered if they could ever be together here again.

He descended the stairs and found a note on the mantelpiece. “Dear Angel, Doing a bit of shopping with the girls. Meet us at the Wonderland at 9. I love you.” It wasn’t signed; it didn’t need to be.

Angel arrived at the café at 8:45, and endured a chilly reception from Desiree before being led to the table where Spike and the women were sipping chocolate smoothies. “We’ve got a plate of bread and cheese dip coming,” Spike said as Angel took his seat. “And they have barley soup tonight.”

“Yes, that sounds good,” Angel said quietly.

“I contacted some Wicca I know in this part of the country,” Willow said, “and there are a few who are going to overnight the supplies we need to perform the ritual. We should have everything by tomorrow. Two days at the latest.”

“Good,” Angel said.

“You’re still ready to do it?” Willow asked.

Angel looked at Spike, who deliberately kept his face expressionless. “Yes, I’m ready,” he said.

“Willow and I also found the neatest used book store,” Buffy said. “The Silver Apple.” 

“I know that one,” Spike said. “The owner’s kind of a flaky old guy, but he has some interesting things…”

Dinner seemed endless to Angel, as Spike, Buffy, and Willow kept up a constant chatter of inconsequence while Angel could only think of the broken bed in his garden shed, the dog that lay tense and trembling beneath the table, and the green-stone ring that weighed in his pocket like brick.

\- - - - -

When they returned to the house, something seemed different. Angel frowned, before realizing there was a new standing lamp at the bottom of the stairway. The broken one, now in the trashcan at the curb, had been dark and ornate. Its replacement was a simple but elegant stainless steel, the shade plain white. He turned towards the living room and saw a rug of plain, bold design to replace the Oriental one stained with blood. 

“What is this?” Angel asked, turning to Spike.

“I had Rebecca come in while we were at dinner,” Spike said, referring to their decorator.

“But when did you pick these out?”

“I didn’t,” Spike said. “I just told her to get the cheapest, fastest things she could.” He looked at the lamp and grinned. “I’m guessing Target,” he said.

Angel looked up. “And the bedroom..?”

Spike shrugged. “I’m a little curious to see that myself.”

All four raced up the stairs, and Spike held back as Angel swung the bedroom door open. Where the antique bed had been, there was a modern, Scandinavian-styled bed in warm honey oak, matching night-tables beside. The dark velvet curtains had been replaced with a crisp blue-and-white stripe, completely changing the look of the room.

Buffy frowned. “It’s doesn’t really seem like… you,” she said.

“But it’s different,” Angel said. “I need it to be different.”

“I like it,” Spike said. 

\- - - - -

Spike called Rebecca to thank her while Angel and the girls started a movie in the TV room. After a few minutes, Spike joined them and wordlessly snuggled next to his love. Angel missed much of what happened on screen, as he concentrated on the color of Spike’s eyes, the texture of his skin, and the feel of his hand in the small of Angel’s back.

Later, they climbed into opposite sides of the bed, Angel watching Spike intently. Once Spike was situated, Angel spoke. 

“I want to hold you while I sleep,” he said quietly.

Spike turned his head slowly and looked back. “Okay,” he said.

\- - - - -

Willow was dressed in a flowing black robe, her head draped with a hood, as she led Buffy and the two vampires up into the woods, to a clearing Spike thought would be suitable. Once there, Angel put down the box of chains and restraints he’d been carrying and turned to Spike. “I need you to shackle me,” he said, and Spike nodded. 

He wound lengths of chain around several tree trunks and attached them to metal cuffs on Angel’s wrists, ankles, and throat. “Don’t be afraid to pull them tight," Angel told him.

“Don’t worry,” Spike said, giving one chain a jerk that spread Angel’s arms as far apart as they would go. Spike took the better part of half an hour to make sure the chains were secure, until Angel’s arms were stretched wide, his legs were about as far apart as they could go and still let him keep his balance, and his head was at the center of five chains that radiated out in a circle to five different trees.

“I think that ought to do it,” Spike said, observing his own work, then he leaned in and kissed Angel on the mouth. “Good luck,” he whispered. “I love you.”

“I love you,” Angel repeated.

Willow waved one hand over the stack of wood she and Buffy had stacked and it burst into crackling flame. “I need to draw on the wisdom and power of many of my Wicca sisters,” Willow said gravely. “They are waiting to help us.” She sank gracefully down into a cross-legged position, her eyes closed, her palms turned up. “Give me a few minutes to make contact.”

Buffy stood a few feet away, near the fire, her arms across her stomach. Spike, meanwhile, crouched near Angel’s feet, watching intently. After what seemed like an hour, Willow gestured towards one of the boxes they’d brought along. “Now,” she said, and her voice sounded unlike herself. “Scatter the bloodwood over the fire. Be ready with the hart’s-horn powder.”

Buffy and Spike moved to obey, but as the first sticks of bloodwood caught the flame, Angel cried out in pain. Spike hesitated, moved back towards his lover, but Willow stopped him.

“It’s part of the spell,” she said. “If you touch him now, you’ll break it.”

Spike looked up at Angel’s face, saw the older vampire grit his teeth against the pain and nod in Spike’s direction. With an effort of will, Spike went back to his duties, but he longed to hold Angel and reassure him.

The fire burned higher, brighter. Willow directed them to scatter various ingredients, which they did, silently. Spike and Buffy both watched Angel as they did so, as he writhed and sweated and screamed. Willow began to chant, and the voice that came from her throat was deep and rough. Angel jerked on his feet and nearly fell, the chains that held him rattling.

“Fight it, Angel,” Spike shouted at him. “I did it, and you can, too.”

Willow’s chanting reached a crescendo, and she leaned her head back and bellowed. A cloud of green fire erupted from her throat, and dissipated in the cold air as a thousand fading fireflies. Both Buffy and Spike moved at once, Buffy to her friend and Spike to his beloved. 

“Are you okay?” they both said to their respective concerns, and both Willow and Angel nodded weakly.

Buffy helped Willow to her feet carefully, while Spike undid the chains and shackles and lowered Angel gently to the ground. “Did it… did it work?” Angel gasped, and Willow nodded again, and smiled.

\- - - - - 

Spike managed to get Angel home and into bed, though by that time he could barely move a step further. “It’s over, Spike,” Angel said as Spike undid his clothes and pulled them off. “It will never happen again.”

“I know,” Spike said. “Now just be still and sleep. We’ll talk more when you wake up.”

“Okay,” Angel said. “I love you, Spike.” 

“I love you, too.” But Angel was asleep already.

\- - - - -

Spike awoke with his hands held tightly in Angel’s, and he blinked to find himself staring into Angel’s eyes.

“He told you the truth,” Angel said quietly. “I do love how your hands feel on me. And I do think your eyes are beautiful.”

Spike gave a crooked grin, and dropped one hand to his crotch. “And what about the way you crave it?”

A look of shame and regret passed over Angel’s face, and he turned away. “I…”

“Because I still crave you,” Spike said quietly, moving his hands to encircle Angel’s waist. “And I don’t want to give him the satisfaction of changing what we are to each other.”

Angel turned back and Spike’s grin got wider. “That’s making him crazy, isn’t it?” Spike whispered, and Angel returned the grin and nodded. 

Spike slid his hand over Angel’s hip, then bent Angel’s leg up and out. “Now let’s really make him crazy,” Spike said.

\- - - - -

Spike left Angel content and sated in the well-rumpled bedding and met up with the girls in the kitchen. They’d made a stack of pancakes and were enjoying them with fresh oranges and coffee. Spike poured himself a mug of the latter and joined them at the table.

“You look pretty satisfied with yourself,” Buffy said.

“I just shagged Angel into a boneless slab of meat,” Spike said, ignoring Buffy and Willow’s twin expressions of disgust. “I’m extremely satisfied with myself.”

“You’ve forgiven him, then?” Willow asked.

“Nothing to forgive,” Spike said. “I never doubted his soul.”

Buffy steepled her fingers and regarded Spike thoughtfully. “You do belong together,” she said quietly. “You know how to take care of each other.”

Spike gave her a look of tender affection. “Buffy…”

“No, it’s okay,” she said. “I want you both to have that.”

Spike lowered his eyes. “Thank you,” he said sincerely.

“And for what it’s worth, you have my blessing, too,” Willow said.

“Thank you,” Spike repeated, then rose and topped off his coffee cup. “Now, I’m back to bed,” he said. “I’ll see you both at dinner.”

\- - - - - 

They went to the Wonderland again, and though Snoopy was starting to come around, Angel’s reception from Desiree was still chilly. 

“You’ll just have to show her how much you dote on me,” Spike suggested, and began to leaf through the gourmet dessert menu.

They stayed late, enjoying the evening’s live music, a woman who looked like she’d just come from her child’s soccer game but sang with an earthy, soulful voice of loss and longing. Afterward they walked home and Buffy and Spike played video games while Angel and Willow talked books and antiques.

The next few days, before Buffy and Willow returned to England, were spent quietly, hanging out and enjoying one another’s company. Occasionally the women would exchange knowing looks as they saw Angel and Spike rediscover one another under the new umbrella of trust Willow’s spell had made possible. 

The women left for the airport on a drizzly early morning with many hugs and tears and promises to come back soon, and Angel and Spike watched them go from the shelter of the porch. Snoopy followed them and lingered beside the car while they packed it, causing Willow to lavish him with the most heartfelt farewell hugs of all. 

Spike and Angel went back inside and Spike gave a yelp of surprise as Angel lifted him off his feet and laid him gently down on the sofa. Angel stretched out over him, laughing. “I thought they’d never leave,” he said.

“Well, this is unexpected,” Spike said, fully amused himself. “What brings all this on?”

“This is so funny,” Angel said. “I’m only just beginning to realize, I don’t have to hold back any more. I can be happy, at last.” He kissed Spike’s chin. “I have a soul. I have a huge, beautiful house in the most charming small town in America. I’m a millionaire!” He kissed Spike’s cheek, and Spike’s eyes fluttered closed. “I have a son,” Angel went on. “And he’s strong, and smart. A little bit of a nerd, but he’s a good boy, and I’m so proud of him. And he actually likes me.” Now he kissed Spike’s eyelid, and Spike’s lips parted. “And I have you,” Angel said, wonderingly. “My beautiful, brave William. You have forgiven what I couldn’t forgive in myself.”

Spike’s eyes opened, and he smiled, but kindly. “You’re a big old sap, you do know that,” he said.

“I love you,” Angel said. “And I want to start this all again.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out the emerald ring, now cleaned, and his expression clouded. “I’m sorry I… I couldn’t get all of your blood out of it. There’s some under the stone. I can smell it. But I want to wear it again.”

“So wear it,” Spike said.

“Can you put it on my hand again?”

Spike rolled his eyes, but took the ring and slipped it on to Angel’s finger, held onto Angel’s hand and kissed the palm. “The blood will wash away soon enough,” Spike said softly, and he drew Angel’s face close. They kissed for a long time.

“How is he?” Spike asked. They both knew who he meant.

“He’s quiet,” Angel said. “I think he’s trying to figure out what you’re up to.”

“I loved him once, too,” Spike said. “I think it’s possible for you to live together. I do.”

They kissed a bit more, and Angel murmured, “you are a most amazing creature.”

“Yes, I am,” Spike said smugly. “Now, should we go upstairs and break in the brand new bed some more?”

Angel slid down on the sofa, pressing his body full-length to Spike’s, and clutching Spike’s hips with both hands.

“Or right here is good, too,” Spike said, and his eyes fell closed.


End file.
